The Heart Is a Fickle Thing
by TreesWhisperTruthsAndLies
Summary: Harry Flynn hesitates dropping the grenade. Same AU as A Pin's Drop, Nathan Drake's perspective. Rated M for adult language, extreme violence, adult situations, possible triggers. Set during and after Uncharted 2 with mentions of Uncharted 4
1. Chapter 1

**The Heart Is a Fickle Thing**

Nathan Drake's excitement and adrenaline came to a screeching halt when the shape first shambled out from behind the pillar at the Cintamani Stone chamber, first only shock flooding in its place. It was the least expected of places to see the face of Harry Flynn again and certainly not in this condition. Harry had given them a bit of a speech, perhaps a planned monologue because he always known they would try to save him or reason to have him allow it. Nathan really wanted it, _really wanted_ Flynn to accept the offer and let Elena get close to him but the grenade brought the reality to a jarring morbid possibility. Drake liked Flynn as a friend, but their relationship had grown complicated as of late. _Understatement of the century_ , Drake reflected, the past four months had been a whirlwind of change.

Stealing the lamp from the Istanbul museum months before was a challenge, but a fun one. Nathan had forgotten how exciting a theft like this could be, often choosing to stick to places where modern security and armed guards were not usually a problem. Chloe had talked him into it, or more or less jumped his bones despite her apparent pairing with Flynn to privately convince him to take off together. There was a nagging little thought on why she would so easily con her supposed fiancée, but Drake knew he would eventually find out sooner or later as he went ahead with her requests. Flynn and he had history, they were close buddies at one point until their paths diverged as they often do in this line of work. The steaming dung pile hit the fan when Flynn yanked the rope up before Drake could make his escape after their discovery in the lamp, stabbing him in the back. For a moment, one terrifying moment, he thought Flynn would shoot him there, but instead set off the museum's alarms with his trained marksmanship. He never expected Flynn to stab him in the back like that. But then again, had Nathan not just done the same sort of thing? _Well, yeah, okay, he got me back there. Three months in prison. If I see the inside of another prison cell, it'll be way too soon. But then there was the train…_

Harry Flynn had made his appearances a few other times before that near-fatal incident on the train-ride up to Nepal, all the while smirking his smug stupid grin, faithfully at Lazaravic's heels. Drake could see Flynn was nervous about the man, but hey, who wasn't? The guy was full-blown psycho. Drake had hoped to avoid Flynn as long as possible, dodge him when he could due to the possible show-down that might occur. Seeing him, working for the bad guy, gave Nathan a weak pang of grief deep in his chest. _Flynn, you were better than this. Why did you do it, buddy? Why did you try to kill me?_ Nathan never thought he'd do it, not with their history. But as that train bailed headlong into a blizzard, Drake too busy arguing with Chloe to try and convince to her leave that madman she called boss, the gunshot rang out like a thunder blast. The crippling pain was nearly instantaneous, in the abdomen and thankfully not bleeding as heavily as it could have turned out. If not for that moment, Drake would have never believed Flynn would try to murder him, _really_ authentically try. The look of wrath and hate in his green eyes were stunning to him when they were often so warm and friendly towards him. Out of sheer luck, Drake blew the train to pieces and managed to climb the suspended, dangling cars before they plummeted headlong off the side of a stony cliff. As if that were not bad enough, Nathan had to maneuver his way through the flaming, and at times exploding, wreckage and fought off a number of forces that scouted the remains before he fell unconscious a distance out of the gorge. Nathan Drake was nothing if not lucky, by some chance a Tibetan ranger named Tenzin brought him out of the cold and nursed him back to health. Flynn had been rarely spotted since, and Nathan did not mind that. The betrayal stung, very much like the healing wound on his stomach still ached. But not as much as the ache he felt now for his former friend.

Flynn was a mess. Nathan was sure Lazaravic ruled his forces and allies with fear, the brief glimpse into the way he threatened Harry at the monastery, but never thought he'd see the evidence on Flynn himself. The older British man was grievously wounded, a neat hole poked through the leather of his jacket up on his chest where he was most likely shot. Blood had already flowed down and saturated the cloth of his denim jeans as it seeped downwards from where he was propped against a stone pillar. Harry Flynn's often meticulously managed auburn hair was now in disarray, the evidence of a brutal beating scattering his handsome features. Cuts, bruises and scrapes were marring his forehead, nose, cheeks and chin, his lip split open and adding to the amount of blood that already covered him. Judging from the way he collapsed, legs slowly giving away against the pillar and sinking down, it meant his strength was leaving him quick. _Jesus, Flynn. What happened to you, pal?_

The grenade in Flynn's quivering grasp was what he was focused on now. Any moment, he could let it go and finish the mission he was trying to complete this whole wild goose-chase. He knew Flynn did not want to die. Nathan could hear it in the resignation in his voice when he spoke to Elena about the plucky girl being unable to save and reform a villain. He could see it in that sad, grieving look Flynn had when he glanced in Chloe's direction, giving Nathan a stab of guilt each time for driving the wedge between them mistakenly. In what appeared to be a final act of desperation and defiance, Flynn raised the grenade to the same level of his head. Nathan's heart leapt up in his throat. _No, Flynn. Please, don't do it. Come on, buddy, just give it a chance, we can save you._ Why was Flynn so determined to die here? Suicide was never his way of doing things, he seemed to speak of it previously with mild distaste.

"Parting gift from Lazaravic… Pity he took the pin," Flynn rasped softly, that trademark little smirk appearing only briefly. _Jesus, Elena, move back. Elena, move!_ Nathan Drake was sure they were all dead, was sure Flynn was going to drop the explosive then, he even saw the older man's fingers twitch as if to do so. But as Drake froze, inches from touching Elena's waist to yank her back to safety, he saw it never happened. The deafening blast never occurred. Harry Flynn himself was paralysed for a moment or two, stuck with indecision before that stubborn, angry spark died in Flynn's eyes. Harry let his arm drop down still clutching the grenade tight enough for his knuckles to whiten. Nathan Drake knew it then, he knew Harry well enough to know. _He's given up. Jesus, he's not mad at us anymore. He's forgiven us._ "Listen," Harry hissed with a fluid-choked voice, licking his bloodied lips. "Go. Now. He's going to the Tree. Fuckin' get out of here. You gotta stop that prick."

 _No. I'm not letting him do it. I won't let him._ Nathan Drake hid his shock the best he could with Flynn's change of heart, looping his arm around Elena's waist and luring her back to Chloe. Flynn's former fiancée protectively grasped for Elena's wrist, pulling her back safely out of a blast radius if the explosive had detonated. With her safe now, he could think, could act. Nathan was already moving towards his downed former friend before he knew he was truly doing it, racing forward instinctively. _No. I can't let him do it. Not Flynn. He's been a real dick, but he_ _doesn't_ _deserve that._ "Flynn, wait a min-", Nathan began, ready to try and reason with him but Harry had interjected.

"Just stop, mate…" Flynn panted over him, his lungs were already heaving with the trouble of simply breathing. "I can't keep up. I'm done for. He wanted me to finish you all off. Too bad I was never one for orders, yeah?" There was that small smirk again, a practiced expression Flynn always had at ready, but the emotions behind it made it different. It was pained, bitter, and perhaps sad. Flynn was truly resigned to his fate. _He's getting ready to die. He wants to._ The grief came strong, unexpectedly so, Nathan's eyes starting to burn and glassy with gathering tears.

"We can't just leave him here," Elena insisted, echoing Nathan's instincts. He had his back to her, but he could hear her straining against the other woman to get closer. Elena's kind heart was yet another characteristic that he loved about her, but no one could pry the words from between his lips even upon threat of death. Nathan just was not ready for that level of commitment, not when Elena and he lived very distinct separate lives. The entire two pages of his current journal in his back pocket attested to that fact, other girls from other cities, former flames and flings.

Nathan was close, he was nearly in front of Flynn now, but he was not moving in yet. Flynn's grip on the grenade was faltering, the wounded man was exhausted with the effort even with his arm slack at his side. Flynn was bleeding out before all of their eyes, his tanned skin now paper-white through the brutal clashing of bright red covering him. Harry was quivering lightly, but his voice was surprisingly stable. "Sure you could, love," he murmured in response to Elena, Flynn's eyelids drooping as if he was drifting to sleep. "Just go. I would've."

 _No, Flynn, no. Stay awake, stay with us. Stay with me. I can't lose you, not like this. Not like Sam._ Nathan could feel a sob lodged in his throat, now crouched in front of his former friend. The thought of Flynn dying like this, a gunshot wound, helpless and unable to treat him to save him, filled him with a deep familiar grief that never really left after all these years. Nathan, years before tangling with the likes of Harry Flynn, had an older brother. _Had._ Nathan forced the thought down, he could not deal with that now, not when Flynn was still breathing. He was almost kneeling in Flynn's blood, a small patch expanding underneath him at an alarming rate. Harry's eyes had drifted shut, his breathing ragged and strained, the grip on the grenade slowly easing. _Move, do something. Now._

"Nate. We need to _move_. Now," Chloe hissed impatiently at his back, Nathan had to focus to remember she was even there. The looming possibility of another loss in his life was staggering, it shook him to his core.

 _Thanks, Chloe. We do need to move, but we're taking him with us._

Nathan Drake had to act quickly, but he was not sure he knew any other way. Hastily, both hands shot out to clasp over Harry's, gripping the undetonated grenade firm. Flynn's fingers were like ice, the flesh deeply cold and turning blue that Nathan hoped was only frost-bite. Nate's eyes were glassy now, his vision spliced from the tears obscuring his sight. _Oh my God, he's so cold. How is he going to survive this? No. Keep your head in the game, Nate._ Drake was sure Harry was out cold, unconscious from blood loss and trauma but those weary green eyes opened and stared at him, taking a second to recognize the person there. That scared Nathan badly. But Flynn had other plans than surrendering meekly yet, he immediately meant to yank the grenade back out of Nathan's hands but Drake refused to allow it. "Fershitsake, Nate, get the fu-"Flynn started, his speech slurring.

"Flynn, shut up," Nathan tried to scold, but it came out as a saddened groan. He was trying so hard to stay calm, to relax and keep optimistic but there was so much _blood_. He saw the older man react to his voice, struggling to lift his head, an effort that would have not troubled Flynn at all an hour or so before. Red froth was clinging to his lips, the wound bubbling with each inhale. _Oh God. It's so bad. Flynn, please, hang in there, stay with us. Don't give up, you have to keep fighting like the dick I know you can be._ "Just shut up… Give it to me. C'mon, don't be any more of a prick than you already been." Nathan refused to give up the explosive. Not now, not ever.

Harry Flynn regarded him with eyes that fogged and glazed over, Nathan saw it once and it haunted his nightmares. _Oh Jesus, he looks like Sam did._ Flynn normally would have told Drake to go have relations with himself with something sandpapery than to give up an act he set his mind in doing. Flynn was stubborn like that, even now as his lungs stubbornly panted for breath, his chest cavity under increasing pressure as he bled internally. Harry, however, was losing his battle. His hand reluctantly parted with the explosive, surrendering it to the younger man without another word of complaint or argument. Those once sharp, clever green eyes staring back at him were dulled with exhaustion, but lucid and aware. "Drake, please…" Harry whispered, a quiet hiss that required effort on the dying thief's part. "Kill him. Kill Zoran."

"Oh, believe me, I don't need to be told twice," Nathan tried to laugh, scrambling for optimism and hope but it sounded forced even to his own ears. Drake wanted to touch Flynn, hold him against himself and comfort him as he clearly needed. But touching him made it real. Feeling Flynn's cold and clammy skin under his touch was _real_. Easing the explosive into one fist, Nathan forced himself to look at his former friend. _In case this is the last time I see him alive._ The thought was offensive, deeply so, but it rang true all the same. Flynn was dying. He needed care, quickly, if he was to live through this. Flynn was struggling against drifting off to unconsciousness, his head bobbing as his eyelids sunk and he jerked himself into waking fully again in increasingly faster intervals. "Hang in there, buddy…" He had no idea what else to say. Nathan grimaced, hoping Flynn was as stubborn as he believed, slowly straightening his posture to stand. "Elena, Chloe, I have to go do this. I need to give this toy back to the asshole who lost it. Take him to the elevator. Get him to the entrance, do what you can. We're getting the hell out of here."

Harry Flynn lost his fight to stay awake, his head dipped down and did not bob back up as he surfaced back to waking as before. Nathan felt a weak pang of anxiety, but hearing Flynn's laboured breathing eased it back a bit. He was still alive, that was fine. Nathan had expected Chloe to maybe argue as she had before, like when Jeff the cameraman was first wounded and she opted for leaving him behind. But perhaps, with a guilty little thought, he underestimated her yet again as he watched both women frantically race to Harry's side and sling his limp arms over each of their shoulders to haul him upright. Nathan hesitated just long enough to watch their faltering progress, Harry's booted feet dragging listlessly on the stone floors. _Please, Flynn. Please hang on. You need to live through this._ Drake turned on his heel and vaulted down the steps towards the Tree, looming over the pyramid as a haunted sentry from civilizations past, grenade still clutched tight. _Oh, I'll be giving this back, alright… I'll be shoving it right up his ugly bitch ass._

* * *

Nathan Drake had no idea how much time had passed, he was never one to carry a watch on him as someone else usually had one when he asked. Getting to the sacred Tree of Life had actually happened unhindered without Zoran's forces interfering with his progress, they had apparently been waiting for the cue of the grenade explosion that had been given to a horribly wounded Flynn. Nathan clutched the bomb tight to his chest, lungs burning like his eyes as he charged his way through to find Zoran Lazaravic already standing at the sap pooling at the base of the tree, illuminating the atmosphere in an electric blue glow. Drake watched the man drink, saw his scars disappear and the only a flicker of what power the sap could ultimately afford someone that consumed it. He lobbed the bloodied grenade into the pool, wiping out Lazaravic's forces but only irritating the man himself.

With Shambhala fracturing and splintering with each earth-shattering explosion, a chain reaction to the flammable tree sap that grown there, Drake could hardly remember how the battle unfolded, the adrenaline had made the memory hazy to recall even though it happened minutes ago. It happened just _so_ _fast_. One moment, he was sure Zoran had enough and was done, the next the beast of a man had him by the throat and physically threw him across the battle-zone with a strength so unfathomable it hurt to think about. Nathan used the sap to his advantage when bullets or brute force simply bounced off the crazed warlord. Then, Zoran collapsed, Nathan was ready with a gun in his face, wrath beckoning the decision against his typical character. But he could not do it. Nathan Drake was not like this man, a monster that murdered needlessly. Not when there were others in need of revenge. Drake fled when the Guardians sprung on the intruder that invaded their holy site, bludgeoning him to a painful death that echoed throughout the gigantic undergrowth that moved with strange intelligence when agitated with fire or explosions. Legs pumping but ready to collapse, Nathan sprinted up countless stairs, to the Cintamani chamber where he left his companions now empty of their presence, but Flynn's blood still bore the truth of what happened there. A deep pang of grief drove him to run faster, the bloodstains spurring him with renewed speed.

 _Oh, crap. This whole place is raining down on my head. Shit, I hope they all got out. Flynn, you better be breathing when I get back. Just be alive, that's all I ask of you, jerk-off._ Nathan supposed every corner and twist and straight sprint without Flynn's body being left behind was a good sign, but the traces of blood from his hemorrhaging led him along hot on their trail, feeling a little flutter of panic with each crimson smear. _How much blood can a man lose? How much can he lose and still be okay? Jesus, this is so bad._

Then he was out of the pyramid, out onto the bridge as it shifted and caved underfoot. There were two distinguishable shapes up ahead, struggling with a much larger one. Drake's heart leapt up in his throat when a few more reckless but lucky jumps brought him closer to recognize them and fully absorb the situation.

Chloe was being throttled by an enraged Guardian, both massive hands around her neck and squeezing as she kicked and thrashed to free herself. Elena was a few feet away, firing off rapid-fire rounds into the hulking creature's back to release her, crouched near a large rock. _Crap! Come on, Nate, move your ass. Wait, where's Flynn?_ Nathan debated yelling out their names, to draw their attention and maybe divert the Guardian's rage, but his voice froze on his lips when his eyes fell on a bloodied heap of what Nathan thought was just clothing at first. _Flynn. My God, what are you doing?_ The British elder thief was almost unrecognizable, he was just covered in blood, _his_ blood. But no matter how hopeless his condition was, Flynn was shoving himself upright abruptly with clumsy arms, conscious and alive. Harry's protective streak over Chloe never seemed to waver, even now in unimaginable odds. As the Guardian dropped his former fiancée to lunge at Elena, Nathan could only watch in horror as the pillar he was on toppled forward, leaving him parallel to their platform but unable to make the jump. _Harry, no!_ Drake witnessed Flynn's bloody upper limbs fling around the Guardian's gargantuan leg, nearly wrapping his body around it to forbid the creature to pounce on the blonde woman vastly unmatched against such brute strength. "Harry, what are you doing?!" Chloe's voice was barely heard over the bone-shaking chasms opening up around them, swallowing the entire ancient city. _Flynn, oh Jesus, what_ _ **are**_ _you doing?_ The Guardian was shaking his leg aggressively, attempting to wiggle off the persistent pest but reaching his limit in patience before smashing the other foot directly down onto Harry's upturned face. Drake felt a scream in his throat as he watched Flynn go slack, unresponsive from the sheer bludgeoning. _Oh my God, if he's not dead now, it'll be a miracle._

"NO!" Chloe screamed, her hands at her own weapon and firing wildly now that she had a chance to focus and breathe, the near-strangling must have shaken her badly.

There was an ear-splitting crack as the platform they were on shifted and careened into Nathan's pillar, sending both the Guardian and Chloe reeling down the incline but allowing Drake the opportunity to leap onto their level. The landing was less than ideal, the stones he grasped onto gave away and sent him scrambling down another twenty feet for a heart-stopping second to a more stable shelf of rock. Fingers cramping, Nathan grit his teeth as he shimmied across, summoning will power to muscle his way up the vertical rock-face, Chloe just above him and getting traction again. The Guardian had not been as lucky as them, the heavier weight breaking away another slab of stone underneath it to send it plummeting down with the rest of the city's remains. Drake could glimpse Elena at the top, hefting a dead weight backwards away from the edge. _Flynn. Please be alive. Come on, jackass, you been through worse than this._ Nathan was not sure that was true, but it was comforting to say to himself all the same.

The climb to the top was relatively simple, the rock seemed more reluctant to cave at the moment so both Chloe and Nathan were able to haul themselves up onto level ground at the top. Again, the amount of blood staining the ground and Flynn himself staggered Drake to the core. He went to his knees at Elena's side, kneeling in fresh blood but uncaring at the moment. Harry was crumpled on his side and partially unfolded from Elena's efforts to drag him from harm's way instead of falling from the face of the planet. Flynn's breathing was ragged and harsh, a wet rasp deep in his throat that rattled in his chest. The older British man's face was hardly recognizable, from his former handsome rugged self. The Guardian's kick caught his forehead and left eye, opening a massive gash that exposed shiny white bone of his skull on his forehead, sheeting fresh crimson down his features. His battered eye-socket was swelling dramatically already, it was no doubt going to be one hell of a shiner when it blackened. His jaw hung slack, a disturbing detail that Nathan could not stand, purposely gathering Flynn up into his arms. He looped one under both Flynn's dead-weight legs, the other scooping under his shoulders and lifting him with some struggle. _Shit, you're heavy. Always giving me trouble about my weight, you smug asshole._ Chloe stared at Drake questioningly, biting her lip. "He'll be okay, Chloe," Nathan panted softly, still tired from the showdown with Zoran Lazaravic and the escape. "He'll be okay, we just need to get out of here. C'mon! Elena, call Sully! We need a way out!" He did not let his weariness stop him from carrying the grievously wounded man to the elevator, all the way up the stairs to the secret entrance at the monastery. Every time his calves quivered with the effort or his knees were about to unhinge, Flynn's wet hacking that substituted for breathing was what gave him a reason to fight on. _Jesus, if he's not braindead, he's got a head harder than mine. That kick nearly took his face off._

Nathan Drake did not stop running until he reached the snowy drifts of the monastery, he could not allow himself to stop knowing this man's life was in his hands. The withered tree that loomed over the secret entrance greeted them with its gnarled shadow cast over them, Drake's feet not stopping until they settled on the stone platform cleared of snow, sinking down to his knees with an exhausted grunt at last. _I did it. We did it. We made it out. I can't believe we've been that lucky. Is Flynn that lucky?_ Still panting heavily for his breath, a hot stitch piercing into his side, Nathan forced himself to look down at Harry Flynn to a sight that brought new grief and pity.

Harry Flynn was unconscious, his body completely slack in his hold, not even so much as shivering in the freezing cold despite Flynn's hatred of chill. His leather jacket was sticky with drying and fresh blood, his jeans stained in a track down his front. His previously tanned skin with its warm glow was now almost comparable to the white snow around him, leeched of colour. His lips were turning blue. Harry's chest continued to rise and fall, but not as feverish or stressed as before. It was laboured but quietening, the effort was straining what little strength he had left in his broken body.

Elena, bless her heart, took charge with contacting Victor Sullivan that stood at the ready for their evacuation, the walkie-talkie she snagged from Zoran Lazaravic's crew attuned to Sully's frequency. The GPS gave them their location and Nathan could feel a faint ripple of relief under the overwhelming anxiety to hear Sully's gruff voice answer back, already honed in on their position and minutes away. Much to Sullivan's military instincts, he had asked a trained trauma surgeon to join him on his flight. _Thank God. Oh, thank God, Sully, you beautiful bastard. We just might make it out of this, Flynn. Hang on, please. You can't leave me, not like this. Not like Sam._

Chloe was hovering over him, anxious about her former lover, almost pacing a track in the snow. Elena finished the call and joined her at Nathan's shoulder. "Shit," Chloe was gasping to herself, to no one in particular other than to just get the words out. " _Shit_. _**Shit**_. Harry, you better not die here."

Elena, however, was of more a level-head in situations where Nathan felt he was a bit overworked. "Nate," she hissed, her voice low. "Keep pressure on the wound, he's losing too much blood. We have to keep him stable."

 _Yes. Yes, you're right. Thanks, Elena._ Nathan's numb hand clapped over Harry's chest, directly over the sopping injury and bearing down firm. He expected Flynn to complain, to flinch, to writhe, to even react at all, but the man might have been already dead. _No. No, he's not going anywhere. Stay here, asshole. Come on, you owe me that much._ "Flynn? Flynn?! Hey, Flynn, I'm going to need you to open your eyes, okay?" Nathan barked down at the dying thief, giving the man a harsh shake. Flynn did not even flutter his eyelids, still limp in his embrace. Nathan was fighting a scream, his voice raising with panic. "Flynn, please! Harry, you gotta wake up! Flynn! Stay awake, okay? Wake up!" _Jesus, no, it's happening all over again. This place is not Panama. It's so different from Panama, but it feels like the same right now._

A hot flood of relief came readily when Harry Flynn's eyelashes twitched, his right eye slowly easing open reluctantly while the other was too swollen to budge. It was not an automatic reflex, a spasm of the brain. Flynn was in there, Nathan could see the lucidity reflected in that one green eye. "Oh God, Flynn, hey. Hey now. Buddy, stay with me," Drake almost groaned, cradling the dying man to his chest. _He's so cold. Flynn, don't you die here, I'll never forgive you for that._ Fruitlessly, Nathan was rubbing the man's arms and legs, trying to use friction to bring warmth back into his body. The more blood he was losing, the more his body was failing. Drake could not bear to look up at his female companions, but he knew they were both standing over him, Flynn's sign of life, however weak, was certainly more than they imagined at this point. Everyone was holding their breath. Initially, Nathan was unsure if Harry was going to respond at all, a blank stare etched on his face, but a slow and authentic grin curled at the English man's battered lips. Flynn's usually straight white teeth were stained red, bubbles of blood clinging to his lips from each cough and splutter. Listening to him struggle to breathe past drowning in his own blood, feeling him shudder and twitch with effort, Nathan Drake could feel his heart breaking. It was hard to smile back, but Flynn smirking away at him was something he never thought he would see again. "Just hang in there, ass-wipe," Nathan murmured gently, as soothingly as he could manage. He used the term purposely, the same one he used back in the ruins of the monastery when Flynn's betrayal was still raw. "You owe me big time. But that's no good if you die here, alright? Stay awake. Stay here with us. Don't go anywhere." _Stay with me, Flynn. Please. Don't leave me._

Harry gave him one of those heartbreaking smiles again, but Nathan could already tell he was struggling to stay awake. "Wouldn't dream of it, mate…" Flynn rasped out, the fact he was able to speak at all a shock to Drake. But as he was done saying it, Flynn's head bobbed down briefly, his weight sinking down into his lap a little more.

 _No. No, this is not happening._ Nathan wanted to shake Harry by the shoulders, command him not to go, to keep his eyes open and stay. Instead, tenderly, he gathered the man up closer, giving his marred cheek a tap. The touch alone was enough to drag Flynn back, at least briefly. "Hey, come on. Stay here. Help is on the way, you just have to hang on. Sully will be here any minute. The cavalry is coming. There's going to be a doctor onboard. You'll be okay." The words were spilling out like puke, he could not help it. Nathan wondered if it was more for his own benefit than for Flynn's. Looking down at the dying British man, there was a pang of anger when he stared at the gouge along Flynn's forehead where the Guardian kicked him. There was bound to be head trauma, he could see blood leaking off Harry's earlobes, trickling from the inside of his ears. "God _dammit_ , Flynn, how could you be so _stupid_? You couldn't fight anything in your condition. That Guardian almost had to scrape you off his boot. If I hadn't gotten there, you'd be toe-jam."

The weakened man in his hold chuckled, a phlegmy sound from blood clotting in his throat. It was the desired reaction, Flynn was smiling again, an expression that seemed so foreign now despite it often his neutral face. It was hard to believe the man had a sense of humor left at all. _If Lazaravic wasn't already dead, I'd kill him. Look at what he did to you, Flynn._ Nathan did not want to cry, he wanted to stay calm. But it was getting so damn hard to fight off the burning in his eyes.

Flynn's lips moved for a moment, like he was about to say something back and Nathan reflexively hunched closer into his lips to catch the sound over the howling wind. The words never came, it emerged as a spluttering cough that never seemed to stop. Flynn's entire body began to contract in his embrace with each spasm for air, lungs drowning and under pressure, runny globs of blood spraying with each cough and sometimes even as a fine red mist. Nathan cringed as he felt it spritz his skin, memories of his elder brother mortally wounded replaying in his mind once more as it did countless instances since it occurred years before. Flynn was writhing now, his paled hands flying up to his chest and throat and palming helplessly, as if to manually clear the obstruction from his breathing. He could see Flynn's fear, his only visible eye large and glassy and pleading. _No, no, come on, get a breath in there. Please, Flynn, just relax and breathe._ "Easy," Nathan whispered in attempt to sound soothing, placing one hand over Flynn's at his chest. He wanted to rock the man gently, wanted to take the hurt and pain away. _Come on, what would Sully say? What do I have to do? I have to keep him awake, get him talking._ "Take it easy. Stay here with us. I know you been through shit, but you can hang in a while longer. Flynn, come on, talk to me. Tell me, where is your favourite beach?"

The mention of a beach brought a weak grin back to Flynn's torn, bloodied lips, able to finally wrench in a deep breath of oxygen and relax. Much to Nathan's despair, the British man was not shaking anymore, the cold was no longer chilling him the way it should. Harry was getting more sluggish, the awareness in his visible eye fading along with the life in him. His clenched arm slowly released from its spot at his throat, going slack at his side as it seemed to weigh more than he was capable of lifting. "Cancun… The tequilas'h cheap…" Flynn slurred foggily, his eyelids drooping back closed. The ragged breathing was now a soft rattle in his chest.

 _No. No, no, no. No! I won't let him die, not now._ A loud motorized roar echoed through the mountains, Sullivan's plane distinguishable even now by ear. He did not need to look up to know it was cresting over the mountain-peak, right in sightline. That did not change the fact Flynn was dying in front of him. The older man suddenly went slack, a final rattle exhaling from his traumatized lungs before ceasing. "Flynn? Flynn?! C'mon… Harry, please hang on, Sully's right over there." His pleas went unanswered. Flynn did not move, did not even breathe. He was dead. _No, no, no. This isn't happening. It happened before, but I have him with me this time. I can_ _save_ _him, goddammit._

Chloe uttered a single sob, a sound that made Flynn's lack of life reality to Nathan Drake as he sprang into action and lay the bloodied man out on the ground on his back. _CPR. Have to do CPR. Have to get him on-board, he'll be okay then._ Drake tilted Harry's chin upwards before starting his chest compressions, lacing his fingers on the man's sternum and pumping his weight on the man's chest. He had to ignore the bubbles that fizzled out of the bullet-wound each time. Flynn's eyes were thankfully closed, the thought of him staring with a dead stare up at him would have been too much. Drake normally would have shied away at the thought of locking lips with Flynn. But now, he did not even falter as he breathed his lung capacity down into the man's mouth, pinching his nose shut. He had to block out the taste of blood on his lips, leaving a copper tang on his tongue. _Come on, live! Breathe, you dumb bastard, don't you dare leave me here._

"Nathan," Elena began, about to touch his shoulder, but he flinched away under her touch. Her tone was all _wrong_ , it sounded resigned. _She given up on him. She written him off for dead._ He felt an unpredictable throb of resentment, not ceasing his efforts, not at all costs. It would take Zoran Lazaravic himself resurrecting from the dead and prying him away to get him to stop now. Between breaths of air into the man's lungs and pumping his chest desperately, Nathan risked glaring up at her.

"Don't you dare stop me. _Please_ , Sully's right over there, we _can_ save him!" The shrillness in his voice he could not stuff down no matter how hard he tried. He could see hurt in her brown doe eyes, flinching back as if he physically swat at her. "Elena, _please_. We're so **close**!" Nathan took most of the effort of CPR, the women's attempts were too half-hearted for his opinion despite his crippling exhaustion. _They both think he's good as dead. No, I won't let him die. No, I'll drag him back to life if I have to, he's not leaving me like this._

Nathan almost did not notice the doctor crouching at his side, not even aware Sullivan's plane was dozens of feet away. All he could focus was how cold Flynn felt.

* * *

Much to everyone's surprise, Harry Flynn managed to pull through with Nathan Drake's efforts to keep him alive and breathing. Now on Sullivan's plane and in the back cot area designated for medical use and transport for this particular patient, Nathan could only helplessly hover over his unconscious friend as the doctor went about her trauma work.

Drake insisted on carrying Flynn aboard himself, getting him on the cot fast and doing what he knew best: back off and let professionals work. The doctor had brought a nurse, Tibetan villagers specially trained in trauma cases due to their seclusion and needing professionals on site in town. They cut away Flynn's jacket and shirt, now saturated with blood and beyond salvaging, tossing it aside to the floor as an obstructive afterthought. Flynn's skin was so pale against the bright crimson soaking his body, the doctor immediately working upon the gunshot wound with tweezers and other steel medical tools clustered nearby. Chloe could not watch anymore, her arms wrapped around herself as she strode to the front of the plane, away from the blood and grief and sorrow. Elena accompanied, worried for the other woman's well-being at seeing her partner brutalized like this. Flynn began to breathe unaided again once given an adrenaline shot, his chest rattling up and down as before. But Harry Flynn was different somehow, more so than Drake last remembered. It was hard to see under all the blood, but he was sure some of those ribs were broken. There was pang of guilt, realizing how painful that must have been with his compressions on the fractures. Blood bags were sitting at ready, O negative, an IV pressing into Flynn's upper arm to get his levels back up. They were working on the chest tube to evacuate the pressure in his chest and help him breathe when Drake's heart leapt into his throat to see Harry Flynn begin to move. It was subtle at first, swollen brow furrowing before his fingers on his right arm twitched.

"Oh God. Flynn? Hey, buddy, can you hear me?" Nathan asked softly, sweeping a matted, sticky lock of hair from Harry's forehead. The British thief did not respond, did not even acknowledge the words. He might as well have not heard it at all, those twitching fingers now moving his entire hand with a clutching grasp. Maybe that was a response of its own, an effort to get his attention. _Oh good, thank God. I thought he was done. He nearly was. Please hang in there, Harry. You can do this._

The doctor had used a scalpel to create another incision into the chest cavity, between the ribs, working quickly but hands never so much as shaking. Drake felt queasy just watching, but he could not leave yet, not when Flynn was starting to show signs of life. He wanted to hold him, cradle him and lure him back to living. The weakened, lethargic movements were increasing in Flynn's arm, actually sliding down across the bedding to grab at the doctor's blade. His efforts were met with the doctor yelling out orders at Nathan, Tibetan still lost on him, but he only had to guess what that meant. _I got to stop him from grabbing it. It hurts, but he doesn't know where he is. Flynn, hang on. Come on, man._ Nathan gently encircled Harry's quivering wrist as it reached for the source of pain, guiding it back to his side and keeping it pinned to the mattress. "Hey, hey buddy. Relax, alright? You're safe now, okay?"

Harry Flynn was not responsive to his voice, the one useable eye still closed but his arm still snaked around in his grasp, struggling to be freed. Those split, chapped lips were shaping into words, trying to speak but lacking a voice. What he was trying to say, Nathan Drake had no way of knowing past the droning hum of Victor Sullivan's plane engines. Even the rattling breathing he laboured with was hard to make out. The doctor was still complaining by the tone, Harry's writhing was making it difficult for her to keep a steady hand.

Nathan tightened his grip, shouting down at the near-lifeless patient. "Flynn, cut it out! Hey, settle down!" He felt the older man shudder at the sound, perhaps the first sign of real awareness. Harry's chest was hitching, the agony obvious with each flick of the doctor's scalpel. Sympathy gnawed at Drake's insides, he wanted to comfort his former friend but right now he was too unstable. "You're safe, we're on Sully's plane," Nathan barked, voice lowering when Harry went still at his request. "I know it hurts right now, pal. The doctor is putting a chest tube in. We need to get you breathing right." _Of course it friggin' hurts. He's been beaten up to hell, shot, kicked in the face, and now we're cutting a hole in his side. All the while on no pain meds._

Drake assumed Flynn was much too weak to even attempt to open his eyes, but he was stunned to see the working one flick open and fix on him immediately, recognition strong in his reaction. The British thief was beginning to smirk, barely, but the expression was terribly strained, nearly hovering and vibrating like a plucked string of a violin at a twitch of the scalpel. Nathan wanted to keep eye-contact with his friend, really did, but it was physically painful to do so when only one eye was able to look back and in such clear distress. It hurt to see his battered, mutilated face and the sheen of bone through the deep gouge on his forehead. It was easier to watch the doctor's confident hands at work, but only barely. The amount of blood, the smell of it, the crusty, sticky feeling of it coating his hands, was nauseating. He could see Flynn was rolling his head around in the pillow, leaving brush-strokes of red on the white pillow case from his bloodied hair. He was taking in his surroundings, panting gently, licking his lips and trying to speak. _Jesus Flynn, just relax, please. Don't panic, you're okay now._ Flynn kept trying to meet his gaze, his arm jerking and twitching in his grasp, fingers articulating.

The doctor readied the tube, the incision prepped and needing the suction to clear his cavity. _Oh damn, this is gonna suck. Why don't they just knock him out already?_ Anxiety simmered in Drake's belly, both hands now settling on Flynn's arm and upper shoulder to keep him in place. They had already secured a restraint around his hips, a belt to keep him from rolling from the cot. "Flynn? You okay? She's going to try and put in the tube now. I won't lie, it's going to hurt like hell." Nathan felt Harry grow still briefly as if to listen intently, that single green eye on him again. "I got you, alright pal?" _That's the truth, buddy. You should have killed me on the train, because you're stuck with me now._

There was no waiting for Flynn's approval, or even the doctor's discretion. The tube was already prying between his ribs, Nathan had to look away then to stop from gagging. He honestly did not know what he expected, maybe a yelp at the most, but Flynn's hips snapped up against the tension of the belt, back arching with a hair-raising, crackling howl of pure agony. Drake could have never imagined a sound like that ever coming from a person, let alone Harry fucking Flynn. The younger man had to bear down with his weight, to keep the patient from throwing himself off the bed or cause more damage to himself. The single scream was all Harry could manage, legs only fruitlessly writhing against the sheets, an inhale caught in his chest and seizing. He gasped once or twice, midsection heaving, before he went slack.

"Oh Jesus, no. Flynn? Flynn?! Come on, don't die here, you're doing so well," Drake began to yell out, but the nurse had begun to shout at him and usher him from the cabin in the back. For one insane minute, he considered shoving past her back into the room to the cot where his former friend lay. But in his panic, he heard a soft hiss of air, causing him to freeze and peer past her shoulder.

Harry Flynn was breathing, on his own. Slack and unconscious, soaked from head to toe in his own blood, but breathing. _Oh thank God. Flynn, you lucky bastard. You have no idea how close you were to being buried in some ancient, abandoned monastery._


	2. Chapter 2

Hours later, Nathan Drake was pacing in the dewy grass outside a small cabin-house in the same Nepalese village he woke up in with Tenzin nearby, dried blood caking his jacket and hands. The muscles in his thighs and calves were quivering with exhaustion, he spent some time off his feet to rest at last but his anxiety was getting the better of him. Since he carried the unconscious Harry Flynn into the cabin from Sully's plane, a singular small one-floor residence undamaged by Lazarevic's rampage, he had no word or glance at Harry's condition at being ushered out for surgery. It was driving him absolutely _crazy_.

When they first arrived, the frost on the grass had just barely melted from the morning's early warning of winter. Chloe had waited with him for a two hours at the most, but the dried blood crusting her skin was too much for her and she retired for the day to clean up. Elena steered clear of Drake, oddly enough. Maybe it was the way he snapped at her earlier, but in the high stress moment, Nathan could not _stand_ the thought of letting Flynn just slip away. Sully hung around for a little bit, but mostly mulled around the village when staying stationary proved too boring. When the tacky, crusty feeling on his hands got too troublesome, Nathan went to a well and scrubbed his hands good and raw until they were pink. He'd change his clothing later. Every time Nathan even so much as wandered off from eye-shot from the cabin, the restless, anxious nagging brought him immediately back. _No, no, I have to stay. If Flynn dies while I'm off exploring, I'll never forgive myself._

Once, he found himself regretting how he handled things with Flynn. The guilt hung heavy on him like a sodden cloak, flipping through his journal as he sat cross-legged in the sun. _I have no mention of him. Just his number. And I crossed that out after the museum. No photos. No sketches. Nothing. What would happen if he died? I have nothing to remember him by. I don't want to forget him._ Nathan made the decision that when he was finally allowed in, he'd finally sketch Flynn. It would be hard to look at him with his injuries, to think of how he used to look before all this. He would have to try to replicate Flynn's exact features, without the worst of the wounds. He never kept many mementos, part of him wishes he did to remember the losses in his life. He long forgotten his own mother's face without so much as a photograph to look back on. It was a bitter truth. And Samuel? _One picture when we were kids… but I hardly have much left of him. That's not fair. He's my brother, and I don't want to forget what he looked like._

Eventually, the exhaustion of his trials caught up with him, and Nathan Drake soon sat against the wall of the cabin directly beside the door. He had no idea how long he was sitting or when he dozed off, but when the door cracked open and spooked him, the setting evening sun was golden and low in the sky. The clouds were stunning shades of orange, purple, pink and blue, startling him again. _What? We got here in the morning. Have they been working on Flynn all this time?_

The doctor, looking every bit as weary as someone would after hours of high-tension surgery, came out in bloodied Tibetan robes. She spoke to him, unknowingly conversing with a foreigner that knew literally nothing about the language. He only nodded dumbly, peeking past her over her shoulder. Despite the language-barrier, his worried reaction was communication enough as she stepped outside and allowed him in as she passed. He did not wait for a second answer, Nathan already almost flew into the petite dwelling.

As he hardly was able to absorb before, Nathan Drake could see the single-room cabin was sparsely decorated with brightly coloured wooden furniture, assorted medical equipment and apparatuses scattered about. _This must be their sick-room. A hospital maybe._ There was a muted electronic beeping in a constant droning rhythm, an ancient heart-rate monitor set up beside the low-level bed. He had first lain Harry Flynn out on the table first as indicated for surgery, but now he was tucked in the bed with wool blankets and thick hide-furs tucked to his chin to keep him warm. Nathan saw there was a cushion-seat on the floor next to the bed, set aside for a visitor, and nearly collapsed into it.

Harry Flynn was not the same thief he was three months prior, not even the same as he was when Flynn first rolled out of his own bed that day ( _or yesterday? He could not remember_ ). The nurses had filed out, wishing to give him privacy with his friend, leaving him feeling very much alone. And through all that time, they did not bother cleaning him up from the blood splotching Harry's skin like rusty-brown birthmarks. _They were too busy saving his life, Nathan. Don't be an asshole._ Harry's auburn hair usually was well-combed and orderly, but now it was clotted in clumps, erupting in shaggy tufts from layers of gauze that wrapped his head. Much to Drake's relief, his forehead was bandaged, no longer bearing a gruesome, traumatic injury. For what cuts and splits could not be padded with gauze were stitched with fine black thread, like his swollen, purpled lower lip. As predicted, Harry's battered eye was nearly black with developing bruises, puffed shut grotesquely. A tangle of IV lines led from two deep red bags hanging from a hook embedded in the wall, vanishing under the covers and no doubt attached to Harry somehow. Flynn's breath gently rattled in his chest, not the same stressed, labored effort as before but relaxed, more natural. Flynn's chapped, ruined lips were softly parted, giving him almost an appearance of peace if not for the horrific injuries patterning his complexion. _Yeah, right. Sleeping like a baby, alright. Flynn never liked to sleep on his back. He's unconscious. There is no possible way he could be close to waking right now._ Drake grit his teeth, grinding them hard to try and dismiss the gnawing grief and sadness he felt for his former friend.

Nathan Drake sat there for a time, very much aware he might have to find ways to make himself comfortable by the bedside. He had no idea how long it could take Flynn to recover, but he had no intentions of leaving. He wondered how he would be able to sleep sitting up, glancing about the room for a clue on how to arrange a potential sleeping area. There were stuffed cushions that substituted for chairs scattered near the tables, he supposed if he was desperate, he could line them up beside the bed for his own comfort. Until then, Nathan already made up his mind that Harry Flynn would be under his care, other than the medical professionals. Chloe and Elena's resignation to let Harry die in the snow still haunted him. He would have to hide that fact from Flynn when he woke, it would only torment him further to know his own former fiancée would not put in as much energy as his enemy had for him to survive.

With a wince contorting his features, Nathan gently smoothed a stray lock of clotted hair from Flynn's forehead. The man's skin was cool to the touch, not his usual warm-blooded self. Harry did not as much as react. As pained and heartbreaking as it was, Nathan would have given up the Cintamani Stone itself if it meant Flynn would look at him and smile just once.

* * *

Every day seemed to add another surprise to the already unusual week, much to Drake's dismay. A solid day after Flynn's surgery and placement in the 'recovery cabin', as it was dubbed by the group, Nathan decided he needed to clean the blood of the unconscious man. It took several hours of slow, careful and gentle swabbing and sponging, replacing the basin of water numerous times when it became too tainted. He only risked scrubbing off the traces of violence from Flynn's hair, face, neck and head, surprisingly quite a bit considering the proximity to the most horrid injury. He still had to be cautious, Flynn split the back of his head open which needed a dozen stitches, not to mention the obvious marks on his visage. But now that he was clean, Flynn looked much paler, the bruises more severe.

Shortly after, Chloe and Elena came to visit for the first time. Nathan could tell Chloe was struggling, it was hard to see Flynn in that condition, her dark eyes glassy and dazed. Elena was her moral support, but also took a moment to relay the news from the doctor to Nathan, as she was fluent in Tibetan. Harry Flynn was a lucky man, enough to consider buying a lottery ticket. There was a literal list of new injuries, ranging from the concussion, possible brain damage, punctured lung, and broken ribs. Elena seemed reluctant to discuss everything, clamming up when she used to be an open book with him. What she was nervous or upset about, he did not know. Not yet, at least.

On the fourth morning since their arrival, Nathan woke up on his make-shift bedding beside Flynn on the floor, noticing the first of several changes. Harry Flynn was panting gently, not the soft whistling sigh of his breathing from before but as if he strained to cope with the weight of the blankets. His eyes were still closed, no sign of consciousness to put his caretakers at ease. Despite the weak pants, Flynn was quivering softly, barely a shiver at all but it never seemed to cease. Nathan's concerns to Chloe or Elena were met with mild nonchalance. He nearly died and was recovering, right? Flynn was pale, hardly anything new considering his blood loss, but it was like the colour leeched from his skin entirely. A thin sheen of perspiration layered his exposed flesh, but Nathan almost withdrew his hand at touching his cheek, the feverish heat rolling off the unconscious man was staggering. _This isn't good. Not at all._

It was near noon when Flynn's working eye fluttered open, Nathan had been daydreaming when he was sure he saw movement and looked down to see a green eye staring. No amount of calling his name, gently touching his face, even snapping his own fingers in front of Flynn's eyes got him no response. The eye would close, fluttering open again in random intervals without any obvious trigger. _Oh Jesus, don't let this be brain damage. Don't let it happen, please let him still be Harry._ What scared him even more than the day he brought Flynn into the cabin for surgery was when the unresponsive man suddenly began to seize and spasm, spine arching and limbs bowed. Nathan's own screams for help must have frightened half the village.

The doctors told him, or more accurately relayed through Elena, Flynn was going septic and was suffering through a serious infection. The gunshot site was deeply inflamed, hot and an angry collage of red and purple. Green and yellow pus seeped from between the stitches. The proper antibiotics were not in the village, but in the main capital that would take a 24 hour flight there and back. Flynn himself was still too critical to be moved, so Victor Sullivan volunteered for the flight out for the precious medicine. It was either that, or prepare to dig a grave.

Chloe and Elena were not in the cabin during this day-long wait, Chloe herself was too deeply distraught to see Flynn in worse condition than previously. At one point, her fists went into her hair and pulled, stunning Drake into silence and Elena into wrangling the upset woman out. Nathan did not blame her, not even Elena that protectively stayed close to the other woman during her emotional trial. They each had their own reasons, as Nathan had his own for bearing the brunt of Flynn's care. And as he found out, Drake was grateful for that alignment of the stars that allowed him to make his discovery in private.

Nathan had been concerned about the sanitary conditions, wanting to scrub the remaining blood off his body while they were alone and the cabin was still warm from a fire blazing in the fireplace. His breath caught in his throat when he tenderly folded back the covers from the unconscious, suffering patient. The sight was more grisly and gruesome than anything he imagined, made worse by Harry's empty, blank stare.

Flynn's toned, wiry body hardly resembled what it did last he saw the British thief strip down at the beach for a swim maybe a year or more before. Harry's muscled neck was ringed with thick black bruises that almost parodied a tattoo or a collar, outlining gigantic hands. Even though it had been four days since the incident first occurred, the bandaged shoulder was grotesquely puffed from brewing infection, deeply discoloured tissue peeking through the criss-cross of gauze. Those awful bands of bruises went further than his strangled neck. They encircled both his quivering wrists and upper arms near the elbows, both ankles and marked striped, digit-shaped contusions along his inner thighs and bony hips. The bruises were far from the worst detail. Harry's twitching, raw thighs were zig-zagged with pink scar tissue and scabs, but many of the deep slices were still healing, gored and brutalized. Harry was almost naked, they had not bothered to cloth him after stripping him down to just his blood-spotted boxers. _Oh no. No, this can't be everything._ Swallowing the sour bile surging in his throat, Drake gently cupped Harry's bony hip and rolled him to face the wall, in order to see his back.

Harry Flynn's utter lack of a proper reaction made it all worse for Drake, biting his lip hard as he felt his breath hitch in his chest in a weak sob. Those paled, toned shoulders which should be deeply tanned and never bruised like this were also in the same condition as his butchered thighs. The countless inflicted wounds were done over an extended amount of time, several were stripes of pink scars that formed no particular pattern but almost a grid due to the sheer number of marks. Many were more recent, peeling scabs or crusty blood still clinging to new carvings. Drake's eyes drifted down the expanse of Harry's spine, horrified and repulsed, but noticing Flynn's lower back was deeply bruised. The bruises and marks seemed to disappear under his boxers. _Oh God. It's worse, isn't it?_ Harry Flynn never so much as complained or flinched, reaffirming Drake's decision, hooking a finger around the hem and very softly guiding the underwear down. _Oh Jesus. Oh God. Don't puke, Nate. Don't do it._ Harry's once smooth ass was viciously mutilated on the left cheek, a crude capital 'Z.L' scabbing where it was previously sliced into. Nothing needed stitches from what he noticed, the doctors had not touched them because they were already closed and healing. That was enough to sicken him to put off cleaning Harry down for another day or two, Nathan could not bear being faced with that kind of reality right now.

He was thinking about what he saw before he dozed. Watching Flynn's eyelashes flutter and twitch as he burned up with a fever was enough for Nathan to focus on. _Jesus, Flynn. I had no idea, pal. You never let any of us have so much as a clue. Is this what Elena was nervous about? Is this what she did not want to say in front of Chloe? How could Chloe not have noticed? She's never mentioned anything about any of this. Not unless he hid that from her too._ Nathan Drake winced again, his own hand settled over his chest as he felt his heart physically ache for the man. It was hard to imagine that kind of loneliness. He had forgotten while Chloe was with him and Elena, Flynn was alone with a madman he was supposed to be working for. _And what he did to you… Jesus. I can't imagine. I don't want to._ Drake had been to prison, plenty. And while he was lucky and able to defend himself for the most part, he had never been victimized that way. He saw it, sure, it was hard to serve time in multiple jails across the globe and not see the depravity human beings do to each other. But he never had to deal with the aftermath of horrific sexual abuse before. He could not imagine Flynn's excruciating pain, the humiliation of being used and abused, the abandonment from his friends and resulting loneliness of facing that agony on his own… Drake had to lie to himself to say he did not feel any guilt about his own role. _Does he hate me? Does he hate me for taking Chloe and leaving him to suffer like that?_

Nathan had carefully tucked Flynn back under the covers, forcing the thoughts from his mind before he slept. He was not sure how long he was out, but something peculiar woke him. Seeing Harry Flynn sitting bolt upright in his bed, covers fallen off in a heap, Nathan Drake was sure it was a dream. At first, he was sure. How could Flynn sit up like that?

Flynn was staring to the opposite side of the cabin, his eyes not clouded with fever hallucinations, they appeared fixed on something seen only to him. Calling Flynn's name out done nothing to draw him out, he was elsewhere. Harry's once strong arms hung limp, hands loosely piled in his lap. Sweat shone on his pale skin, light reflecting off the leakage tube jutting between Harry's ribs from the first efforts to clear his chest on the plane. Flynn's jaw was twitching. When Drake touched his shoulder, to guide him back into bed without jarring his healing injuries, Flynn shrieked louder than any human cry Nathan heard in his life, ears ringing from the proximity. Drake flinched backwards, he could not help it, shocked to see Harry's IV needle laden hands fly up to his hair and bandages to pull in panic. Nathan had to grab his wrists, lunging after the movement, even more perplexed when Harry slumped and collapsed in on himself as if triggered by the touch. He had no explanation, no words for that happened. He simply put Harry back in bed and went back to his vigil, noticing his panting resumed and eyes were back closed.

Nathan never mentioned it to anyone, not even Chloe when she asked what the hell that screaming was. He played it off as an eagle nearby overhead. It was not hard to believe, there were eagles everywhere along the mountain

Sullivan returned with the antibiotics soon after without incident, Harry's condition remaining stable and no longer having delirious fits. The doctor was quick to administer the medicine through his IV, to be given steadily until the infection cleared. The nurses were more liberally with changing the bandages after that, much to his relief. And now, Nathan Drake was just playing the waiting game, faithfully keeping vigil for the remainder of the week.

* * *

Nathan had been sleeping when Flynn finally came out of his comatose state, about nine days into their stay in the cabin. By this point, the recovery-cabin was much too claustrophobic for most people's tastes but his own. Drake was changing bandages regularly, had taken to sponge the rest of the blood from Flynn's body, even went as far to shave him twice when the facial hair was bothering him too much to look at. It reminded Nathan of how really sick Flynn truly was, unable to wake up and care for himself. He was exhausted and finished fussing when he decided a quick nap was fine.

What woke him was the sensation of fingers trailing through his hair, running it back from his forehead and along the scalp almost lovingly. _Elena? Who?_ It felt nice, soothing, luring him back to waking even though his eyelids felt so heavy and he could sleep for another twenty years. He stretched his aching arms, having used them as a pillow for a while, before folding them back under his chin and forcing himself to actually open his eyes to look upon who touched him. Drake thought he was dreaming, but Flynn would never look that bad in a dream, not even a nightmare… but he was awake, bandaged digits lingering in Nathan's hair.

Harry Flynn might have lived nine days past the point of nearly dying, but Nathan would not have known it if not for witnessing it all from start to finish himself. He was in terrible shape. _Jesus, that's a mild way of putting it. I don't think I've seen anyone in this state before. Never. Not anyone that lived._ The bandages that wrapped Harry's head were no longer needed, the stitches in the back of his head actually pulled out a day prior. This time, both green eyes were able to stare back at him with full awareness and a bit of humor, one look to confirm Nathan's worst fears of brain damage were not reality. _Whew. I see you, buddy. You're still in there._ One of Flynn's eyes, the good one, was visibly weary. The other was so blood-shot, the iris was swimming in red. The shiner had reduced in swelling, still purple and fading green around the edges. The cuts and scrapes on his face were looking better every day, but the large gouge along his forehead was now stitched into a neat seam. Other than the bruising, it hardly appeared like the same wound at all. The doctor's stitching was very efficient. Overall, the man was miles better than being the blood-soaked thing he first lugged in.

Relief flooded into Drake like the opening of a dam, he would have been grinning if Flynn's bruised and battered face was as it had been before this whole mess. "Flynn, holy shit… Hey, pal," Nathan murmured gently, purposely struggling to keep his excitement and enthusiasm out of his tone. He did not want to stress Flynn out so soon, the man clearly been through a lot. But at the same time, Harry was so damn close to kicking the proverbial bucket it was not even remotely funny. "We thought we lost you there for a while. You… you weren't well, buddy. Just save your strength, alright? Your fever broke last night. The infection is almost fully under control, but it took time. You been out a week." It was a little white lie, Nathan had a feeling he was going to be telling a lot in the fleeting moments before Flynn passed out again.

As discoloured and swollen as they were, it did not betray the bemusement that flitted into Harry's features. It was pure disbelief at first, before trailing into a strange rusty croak that took a moment for Drake to realize Flynn was _laughing_. It appeared to physically pain him, clutching at his sore, bruised throat with a grimace and one hand bobbing in the air. He wanted something. When Flynn brought the mimed vessel to his lips, Nathan had a light bulb spark off at last. _Water. Flynn wants water._ Moving immediately after an uncomfortable nap was less than graceful, stiffly reaching for the pitcher and glancing about. _Cups. Glass. Anything. I don't want to spill the whole thing on him._ Flynn growled at his hesitation, eagerly flexing his hands. He never was the most patient of men. _Settle down, you moron. You have no idea how close you were to dying._

"Okay, okay, keep your pants on. Little sips at first, right? If you choked, Chloe would kick my ass." That was not a lie. Nathan dreaded the fact if anything happened to Flynn, on how Chloe would take it. Drowning in a pitcher of water after a coma is not exactly a fitting end. Helping Harry drink proved to be a bit clumsy as he predicted it would, water overflowing past his lips and spilling down his neck and chest but the older thief clutched onto the pitcher with both shaking hands in deep desperation. Nathan winced, supporting his shoulders, feeling the exhausted muscles twitch and strain. "Okay, that's it. Not too much yet, you'll puke." Drake did not have to wrestle Flynn for the pitcher back, he surrendered it wearily and convulsively coughed after forcing himself to breathe after several great satisfying gulps of cool water.

Flynn was grinning, almost a stupid, shit-eating grin that Nathan worried for a moment he was not entirely lucid. Drake felt his brow furrow, as the older British man relaxed back in his bedding. "Th-…thanks, mate," Flynn hissed hoarsely, his voice so rough and cracking Nathan wondered how long it will take for that silky tone to return to as it was. Drake did not like hearing the new one, it made the whole traumatic event too real.

"Just don't talk too much, Flynn. I know that's tough for you, but it's for the best," Nathan scolded, but it was half-hearted. "You lost a lot of blood. Scared the shit out of all of us. The doctor…" Nathan had to stop for a moment, swallowing past the lump that surged up his throat out of nowhere. The memory of Harry dying at the monastery was troubling him, of his tortured breath rattling to an end, of his body going limp and cold in his arms. "She said if we were maybe five minutes later, you wouldn't be here. It was close, Flynn. You almost died. Hell, if Sully did not pull some crazy maneuvers on the way… We're been taking shifts at your bed. Elena, Chloe, me, Sully took over a few times." This was not the entire truth, but Harry did not need to know that. Nathan had been almost a permanent fixture at Flynn's bedside. But, on occasion, when everyone else forced Nate to actually take a break, sleep in his own bed, eat a meal, he did relinquish his spot beside the sickbed. Sullivan actually spent more time in the sick-cabin than either woman, mostly to keep Nathan company and remind him to look after himself as well. Drake could not explain his protective feelings over the other man, all he knew was that Harry Flynn needed him and no one was going to change that. "The surgery took about a day. We had to test for blood donors. Tenzin was a match, and a couple others. We had entire lineups for people getting tested. Everyone stepped up. You know what they say, it takes a village."

Harry Flynn listened to Nathan all the while, if it were not for his eyes both opened and staring with the occasional blink Drake would have been sure Flynn slipped back into his coma. Flynn was never so quiet, but physically speaking pained him and acted as a steep enough of an enforcement for silence. When he did finally speak, it was very few words, little as possible to communicate his needs and spare his throat. "How bad?" Harry could only hiss, the water hardly doing much to quench that ache.

 _Oh, buddy. You have no idea. You only just woke up but I've been on a damn rollercoaster for nine days. How do I tell you that you died at the monastery and we had to bring you back?_ Nathan's inner-conflict must have been showing on his face, he inwardly cursed at his inability to conceal his true feelings. He could see Flynn's eyes sharpen on his, almost glaring. "Bad. Very bad. You stopped breathing at the monastery. Right after you spoke last. We took turns with CPR until Sully got there. We weren't going to lose you, Flynn. I wasn't going to let you go without a fight, I know Chloe and Elena wanted the same." Nathan hoped he was better at fibs than he was at masking his emotions. That was not entirely true. After Flynn stopped breathing on his own, they essentially were only trying for Nathan's sake. "The doctor started surgery right away. The bullet didn't pass through, took some time to get at it… No offense bud, but I couldn't see that. I stuck around for as much as I could, but everybody has their limits. Turns out, that was not even the start. Flynn, that Guardian nearly caved your face in. One kick and he gave you an immediate concussion. You needed I don't know how many stitches. One of your teeth got knocked out. Three broken ribs. Punctured lung. That's what nearly got you. The bullet just barely missed your heart but got your lung. Then the infection afterwards…" Nathan trailed off, at a loss for words. He hardly slept at all those few days. "Jesus. Flynn, you nearly died. They had to treat with some strong antibiotics. The fever was burning you out. You were screaming in your sleep, buddy. I thought it was the pain, but I guess you were delirious. I doubt you remember it. You were pretty out of it." _I can't tell you all of it, pal. Not yet. I just got you back._

There was a pause for silence, but Nathan Drake did not feel the need to fill it just yet. It was a lot of news to take in, especially now that Flynn had just regained solid consciousness for the first time since… when? _Jesus, how long has it been? I haven't seen Flynn actually in there, looking back at me, in over a week. _Watching Flynn slowly roll his jaw, tongue prodding at his teeth, Drake could tell he was checking for the inevitable gap on the missing tooth. Nathan winced. He felt he had to bring up what he saw under the blankets, the countless injuries, and the evidence of a torture all sustained in secret. It was hard not to mention it. He had to, it was his nature to explore beyond normal boundaries.

Nathan slowly leaned closer, watching Flynn's weary green eyes shift to him almost nervously. That little flinch broke his heart all over again. "Flynn, if I knew what he was doing to you, I would have convinced you to come with us. Jesus, how come you didn't say anything? The doctor was looking you over…" Nathan had to swallow, he could not tell him the truth. Lies never came easy to him. It was hard to tell Harry Flynn, a bold flirt but deeply secretive about his personal life, that his most shameful intimate secret was already known by some of their group. Nathan could not keep his own mouth shut. He blurted it to Sully in the later night hours, overcome with guilt and grief. Elena already knew, no doubt. "You have injuries on you lasting months, pal. She said they looked like they were inflicted with a knife. Chloe said she never—"

He almost bit his tongue in half when Flynn's hand shot out like a striking viper and snared his wrist without warning, clutching with a strength that startled him. For a split second, he thought this had been another mild hallucination, but Flynn's eyes were lucid and aware. And very serious. It was not Harry Flynn's natural expression. It chilled Nathan to the core. "Who… who knows about that?" the weakened man almost groaned, still holding onto the wrist Drake could not bear to yank away.

 _Shit. My big fucking mouth._ Nathan immediately dropped his eyes, never able to stare at someone deadpan, lie and maintain a straight face. Especially never Flynn. Flynn could stare right through him, read him like a book. Fidgeting, Drake busied himself with inspecting his bruised, battered knuckles. They still stung from the amount of slugging he had to do a week prior. _Quick. Don't lie, but don't give him the whole truth._ "Other than the doctor? I do. Chloe might suspect… Elena too. She speaks Tibetan, more than I do. I know we aren't close anymore, Flynn. I don't know what I did to piss you off like that—"

"Fuckin' stow it, mate," Harry actually barked, his hoarse voice rising to a volume that made it sound as if his vocal cords had literally rusted. Nathan was stunned into shocked silence, watching the rage suddenly ignite out of nowhere in Flynn's exhausted, pained eyes. Harry was usually more animated when he argued, he had a wicked temper that Nate once teased was due to his colouring. _Those damn redheads do have fiery tempers… I'm still surprised he shot me._ But Flynn was beyond drained, he barely had the energy to keep hold on Drake's wrist. That did not put a damper on his anger. "You know what you did… My fuckin' fiancée, Drake? _Really_? That's why, sweetheart. My bloody hotel room was beside yours. Conspiring with the woman I was to marry, you prick. That. Is what you did to piss me off." With those last words, Harry let go and drew away, almost repulsed by the touch of his friend's skin. The outburst bled the rage out of his frustrated, angry eyes. Flynn was beginning to grit his jaw, steeling his scowl, but that did not stop the glassy glaze of tears shining in his gaze now. Nathan's heart broke yet another time, he was wondering just how much he had left to smash because of one ruin of a man. Harry's disgust in himself was even more saddening, ashamed as he blinked away the tears and glared up at the ceiling instead of him. That hurt Drake more than it should have.

For the longest stretch, Nathan actually found he was at a loss for words. The whole time, he was excited for the thrill of the chase, the secrets of Shambhala itself, and maybe he did conspire with a mutual female friend in that inescapable hysteria of treasure hunting. He had not actually stopped to think about the damage he was doing to his own friends and allies. _What the fuck was I thinking? Flynn's right. That was low. I mean, I known Chloe before he slipped the ring on her finger, but I knew she was off-limits then when I saw the ring. When I saw how he cherished her. Why didn't I stop? I didn't want to. Is that simply the reason why? My own selfishness? Is that the reason why Harry Flynn is in this spot right now?_ The guilty inner-monologue was getting deafening in the silence. He had to break it. He had to make it right somehow, to comfort Harry the best he can. _How can I make him feel better after that? After what Lazarevic did to him?_

Drake cleared his throat gently, not seeing a reaction from his former friend and so badly wishing Flynn was more open to communication. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Flynn. Christ, I… I don't know what I was thinking. It was her idea from the start, she even got me out of that prison you put me in. I just… " His apology was starting to sound like excuses. Nathan hated doing this, he was never good at it. "Shit. It's a shitty excuse. I know it is. I… shouldn't have agreed to it. It wasn't even about Chloe. It was about Marco Polo's lost fleet. Dammit. If I knew what I know now, I would have convinced you to walk away from it. I would have convinced you both. It was never worth it. Too many people died for that… resin. All we were doing was adding to the pile. Flynn…" Harry still would not dignify him with even a glance. "Hey. Lazarevic is dead. He's gone. The Tree is gone. Shambhala is nothing but ruins. All that turned out to be a death trap. If we were half as smart as we think we are, we'd move on. Maybe you can still work things out with Chloe. You're still alive, pal. That means something. You can go anywhere from here." It was sincere was he could manage. But his feelings about it was true, now that the final prize is gone, there was no reason for them to be at each other's throats.

The anger lifted from Harry's expression but the grief and sadness remained, it never pooled out of him with the verbal explosion earlier. Instead, the older man only sighed, another heartbreaking sound that made Nate wince. "… Nate," Flynn's soft whisper came, harsh and growling from the damage to his vocal cords. "… I can't go back. I have nowhere to go. Chloe and I are through. She's clear on that. I… have nothing. No job. No home. I sold everything for this… and it blew up with the bloody fuckin' Tree."

 _Jesus. Flynn, why couldn't you have said something?! We could have helped you out somehow._ Nathan Drake, deep down past all the quips and sass and goofing, was a bit of a softie. While he never had much neither, Drake at least had a place to call home. He rented out a little spot in New Jersey himself, but mostly it was a place to crash in between jobs. But Drake had Sully. And he had a brother at one point. Harry had nothing. His brow was gently dipped in a sympathetic wince, lips pressing together tight. He wanted to smile, to cheer Flynn up, but it could be easily misread and upset Flynn further.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Flynn," Nathan sighed gently, aware of how empty it sounded in his own ears. "It's been a shit-show from the start. I guess I never realized what was happening with you… I just thought you went with who was paying you. I…" Nathan licked his lips, reflecting on the time he eavesdropped in on them at the monastery, stuck before the four animal spirits of the compass. Lazarevic was threatening Harry, burying the phurba dagger inches from his head in the wood beam. "…saw Lazarevic do some things, like at the monastery. I didn't think he was doing anything else than threatening you. How… how could I know? Listen, if you want to talk about it—"

"No," Harry growled once. The decision was final.

 _Come on, man, open up to me._ "I didn't mean right now, you shouldn't be talking. Flynn, I… I took responsibility for changing the bandages. I saw what he did to you. I admit, I was pissed at you for shooting me. I get it now. But I had no idea he was doing this. Christ, Flynn…"

"Shut it," came an immediate grumble. "Make yerself useful… water."

As little of a task as it was, Nathan partook in it with great care. He felt every little action counted now, paying Flynn back for that level of betrayal was something he had never dealt with before. _I never stole a man's woman before. Let alone a friend's fiancée. Feels like shit. I wonder if he'll ever forgive me for it._ He scooped up the pitcher of cool fresh water drawn from the well, better tasting than any bottled water he ever had, slowly guiding Flynn's body to sit up enough to slurp down the rest of the jug. Nathan winced gently as he lowered Harry back down into the bedding, watching his former friend gasp for breath after the satisfying drink. The bruises on Flynn's face and neck were fading, but not fast enough. It was hard to tell if it was due to the added stress on his body with recovery or the depth of the contusions on the tissue. Knowing how brutally strong Zoran Lazarevic was, it could very well be bruised right to the bone. It was tough to take it in. Nathan could not suppress the squirms of anxiety deep in his gut, translating to restless fidgeting. Flynn's blankets were wrinkled. Brow furrowed with faint concentration, he smoothed his calloused hands over the layers of wool. With a minor worry Flynn might be cold in his weakened condition, Nathan began to shove fingers of the material under Harry's form in the bed, tucking him in. He did not want any precious warmth to escape.

Flicking a glance up to Flynn's eyes, he froze and let them linger on the British man's face when he saw a familiar and deeply missed expression. Flynn was smiling. It made the vague mess he became to resemble the same guy he used to be. Nathan felt a stirring deep inside him, a warm fuzzy flutter, enough he could not help but return the smile wholeheartedly. _There you are, asshole. I missed you. You have no idea how close I'd come to losing you there at the monastery._ "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Nathan chuckled, knowing the only reason why Flynn was grinning was because Drake himself was fussing. 'Mother-henning' as Harry often referred to it. "You're lucky. So fucking lucky, Flynn. You must have a horseshoe in your ass or something. You have no idea how many scares you gave us. We thought of finding your next of kin. In case, you know." It became too hard to actually say aloud. It would have made it real.

"Got none," Flynn simply stated. "Would have been best to dig a hole and toss me in it."

 _Goddammit, Harry, why did you have to go and say that?_ Nathan knew his grin was vanishing, but he was never good at concealing emotions. Losing Harry Flynn was so tangible, so very real, he sometimes dreams that he was gone on the rare times he manages to get some sleep, shooed away to his own bed by Sullivan or one of the women. Those nightmares, he dreamed of the grenade being dropped and Flynn being blown to pieces before his eyes. It was a scant occurrence, Nathan rarely allowed sleep. For reasons unknown to him, Nathan felt oddly protective over Flynn in his weakened state. Discovering the horrible suffering he endured at the hands of a madman only strengthened his resolve to keep Flynn safe. That meant hardly leaving his side. But of all the graves, the tombs, the caverns and ruins he had scavenged and explored over the years, Nathan Drake was no stranger to death. It touched him very early in his life, stealing away his mother when her mental health taken too much of a toll. Then, his older brother much later by unlucky stray bullets, the only real blood-relation he had left to count on. Death eventually comes for everyone. He did not like to think of when his would come, or those closest to him that would meet theirs before his own. Harry almost did, his heart actually stopped, his body gave up. The possibility of leaving Flynn's body at the monastery, or worse, in Shambhala, was too disturbing to linger on for long.

"Harry," Nathan almost whispered, his voice was soft and somber. Using Flynn's first name was only for special reasons, to communicate some urgency or seriousness. "I… couldn't leave you here. You hate it here. You _always_ bitched about the cold." It was true. Flynn absolutely loathed cold temperatures, he often avoided work that took him to places in their winter months. Nathan knows he had listened to Flynn bitch and moan about freezing his ass off on more than one occasion. Flynn smirked faintly, but Nathan could not handle returning it right now. "I know you wouldn't be in… your body if you died. But I couldn't stand the thought of you here, cold in the ground. It wasn't right. I would have brought you home… where ever home is for you. I'm sure Chloe wouldn't have allowed you to be buried here neither. We would have flown you out for treatment, but your condition was too unstable. And now winter is here. We'll have to wait for the spring to set out or at least milder weather, and hopefully by then you'll be able to fly the hell out of here."

Flynn did not offer any scathing remark, no jibe of sassy humor, not even so much as a witty quip in response. Stubbornly, the older man grit his teeth, but he could tell it was mainly to stop them from chattering. Nathan hoped it was only because his throat was sore that he was closing himself off. Flynn was not acting like he often did. _Then again, Nate, would you be? Look what that sonnavabitch did to his back, to his legs. Who knows what he's hiding._

Unable to help himself, Drake reached forward and gently rested his palm on Harry's patched forehead, despite feeling the older man flinch underneath his touch. If there was one thing he learned, touch helped soothe. A simple hug, a handshake, little gestures human done to comfort and greet and familiarize each other. He just never imagined Flynn would cringe at his touch like that, like he was waiting to be smacked in the face instead. "Hey. It's okay, Flynn. You're safe now. You're gonna be okay." Drake winced, slowly tracing gentle circles between Flynn's tense brows. It was hard to imagine Harry Flynn would be in need of comforting. As long as Drake known him, he was a smug, cheery, flirty yet entertainingly funny guy that might have had a touch of arrogance. The marks on him proved otherwise. "I'm so sorry, Flynn. I should have got you out of there. We've dealt with assholes like him before but… that was something new. It doesn't matter anymore. You're safe. You're okay." Words were all he could offer for now, as poor consolation as they were. Drake had no idea how to handle this level of traumatic injury. He had been meaning to ask more from Sully but the gravity of the situation was still very new. _How can you heal someone that's been tortured like that? I… I don't know what else Lazarevic done. I'm scared to know._

Harry's eyes were clouding with tears again before he squeezed them shut, teeth baring down on his lower lip still tender and swollen from the stitching. Nathan never faltered the soft massage, but he was glad he no longer had to conceal the obvious grief and sadness he felt for his former friend. He did not expect Harry to speak anymore, but a wavering voice rose up to be heard, barely a mutter. "Nate… You couldn't save me. Zoran did not have a fuckin' gun to my head. He had one to Chloe's. I would have died for her. I still would." The grieving made his tone thick, it was obvious he had given up on his relationship in its entirety. Nathan could not understand why he was so quick to write it off. Then again, he did not know exactly the details of their relationship. What went on behind closed doors was known only to them.

Harry was not awake and conscious for long after that. Nathan continued the massage until he was asleep, but there was once he almost stopped. His fingertips once traced over dampness on Flynn's face, thick rivulets of tears streaming down his weathered, unshaved cheeks after he spoke, clearly distraught over the split with Chloe. But Nathan would not abandon him again, not when he was needed.


End file.
